C & C 3

It all begins with a single event. Despite the high probability that this "initial" event is equal to or greater in  complexity than the current subject event in question, there is always a starting point. Not everyone knows exactly what caused the big bang, or have any clue as to what the universe looked like before it, but it happened, and many a great thing has come to pass because of it. If yuri was as good at math or astronomy as would necessitate the thourough understanding, computation, and solving of his own current predicament through a proper analysis of chaos theory, as it currently applied, he wouldnt have found himself in the infantry division of the russian army. Still, it is a good way to try and see how real people and things acted in a complex environment with multiple variables, such as the intelligence world. Unfortunately, pinpointing the initial event posed many a difficulty, as only the end result was known. Working backwards, unknown to the possible number of variables in the equations, made this a task harder than most, and certainly one that required complete concetration on the work at hand.

Sic semper tyrannosaurus

Dave

Location : 4244 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,

C & C 2

There is always an order to things, even if the nature seems hidden at first. Some attribute this to a supreme being, yuri leaned more towards the prevalence of efficiency in all thins, think of okham's razor trimming away the fat from an obese world. There was always a logic, the more pertinent questions being whether said logic was flawed or even birthed from a sane mind. No matter how stupid, absurd, or unbelievable, to someone, somewhere, all was going according to plan.

The russian's immediate plan was to let adrenaline seep from his body as if the waters of the jacuzzi were leeches siphoning the poison lurking inside, restoring the humors. Stress and anxiety, two very common reactions to life threatening situations, tended to meddle with a coherent thought process.

Location : 4244 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,

Cybernetic Mouse

Car bombs and chaos theory.

Growing up in the soviet bloc during the 1980s wasnt exactly the same as Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Government subsidized housing was not the plague of the poor, but the birthmark of generations birthed by the same maniacal doctor. If one was bright enough and brown nosed the right people during the obligatory period of military service, it was conceivable that a russian youth could graduate into a cushy government job, and maybe retire with some decency. Jack Millnan thought he would be dead by thirty. All prospects of an affluent life were covered by the shit smog of factories and car exhaust. A lifetime of dodging explosions and pointing loaded guns at the right people had bought him a mediocre government pension and a bad right knee. Yet the contacts he made had afforded him a current lifestyle beyond perceptible means.

The suite was made for presidents, movie stars, and crass CEOs, yet now it was inhabited by a broken down spy and another who found himself careening in his footsteps. Millnan immediately went to the back door and stepped onto the patio. It was a moonless summer night, and a hint of cherry blossoms ran through the air. The elder intelligence man grabbed a pair of board shorts and tossed them to Yuri. "You smell like a freaking yak who jumped into a pool of rotten eggs and then rolled in the world's biggest pile of garlic. Wash up and then hit up the hot tub. Best thing after a fire fight."

It was true, the hideous stench that permeated the russians skin would probably taint the hotel room for a year. And so he shambled towards the shower, shirking his clothes in a sorrowful trail of stink. The creak of the faucets led to the angelic chorus of cascading water on the tile. He wandered in and sat down, lacking the strength to stand, letting the universal solvent pelt his tired skin. No matter how many missions forces one to suspend hygiene for weeks, maybe months, the body always feels the need to be refreshed and cleaned. Once he felt several degrees of humanity and its corresponding society seep back into his pores, yuri exited the shower, and headed to the hot tub. The scalding water singed off any remaining putrescense. The clink of a glass next to him stirred him from his semi-conscious state. A half-pint of guinness. And a shot glass of some amalgamation of irish cream and whiskey.

"That'll kickstart your mind," grinned Jack.

He dropped the shot into the glass and chugged the velvety concotion. His current predicament seemed like something cooked out of an absurd reality, where things are random, yet can be predicted.

Sic semper tyrannosaurus

Dave

Location : 4244 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,

Russian cigarettes and afterglow

The adrenaline was amazing, he had forgotten the rush of the kill, and the brilliant euphoria of the aftermath. Yes, you couldn't think about the faces or the emotions of the victim, for they would most surely plague your dreams worse than jacob marley. Yuri reached for his glass again, this time instead of the calm, cool, and collected hand of a surgeon, it shook like and alcoholic in the morning. He reached over with his other hand and gripped the arm at the wrist. That seemed to buffer the effects. After a few moments, when it seemed that the most severe tremors had subsided, he brought the hand slowly to his eyes and inspected it. This was an instrument of death, as sure as any bullet or blade ever manufactured, it was through this hand that the dreadful reach of the grim reaper extended and touched an unimaginable number of the unsuspecting unfortunate. It's purpose was clear to the offices that found themselves overlooking Red Square, but to its owner, it was a bit of a paradox. Surely he did not think himself evil, for there was quite a larger number of people he believed to be more sinister than himself, but he couldn't quite place himself as a paragon of the twenty-first century. Was the singular act of killing evil in of itself? Surely not, for there are those who must be dealt with in only the most extreme of measures. Yet, there were also the innocent. Yuri wished he could rationalize their demise, yet that was one of the major infractions of which he was guilty. Not the devil, nor an angel, but a sinner caaught within the purgatory of reality. The black shuttle of the damned hurtled its cargo toward a destiny unbeknownst to all.

"Why are we in this business, Jack? And why does introspection, doubt, and fear always come at the heels of exhilarating bliss and victory?," pondered the Russian as he refilled the glass of vodka.

"Because it's what we excel at and because we are but human pawns in a chess game of inevitability."

Millnan paused briefly, waiting to secure a beverage of his own, and then continued.

"What the hell was supposed to be in that crate anyways?"

"Some used American military hardware bullshit.. obviously wasn't what the Kremlin thought it was."

"Well the information that was passed to me was that it was a new MIRV guidance package that some geeks at MIT had worked up. Apparently it wasn't 100% compatible with the system so it got pushed by the wayside. Fucking brass let it slip, and it turns out the Reds, damnit sorry old habits die hard, Russians are in the market to overhaul their little arsenal."

"So is it the Americans that are trying to kill me so I don't expose who dropped the ball?," queried the Russian. He put his glass down and reached in his pockets. He tore open the pack of cigarettes with the delicate nature of a kid riddled with OCD opening a pack of baseball cards and not wanting to bend the cards. He picked the cigarette quickly and cleanly, before depositing it on his lip and sending his hands to find the lighter. They soon completed their tasks and he brought the flame towards the end of the cigarette and inhaled. The poisonous cloud raped his lungs and smothered the oxygen that had gathered there. It was bliss.

"Sorry Yuri," responded Jack, " I don't rightly know. Could be them. Could be some internal enemies in Moscow. Could be some random lunatic with a hair up his ass..."

"Well then all I have is one question...... Do you have cable or satellite? Because i doubt you possess a DVD collection that can keep me entertained whilst I hide out and try to un ravel this puzzle...."

Sic Semper Tyrannosaurus

Dave

Location : 4244 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,

Sissy Spritz Euro Trash

The M class infiniti sedan was fairly opulent compared to the transport Yuri was used to schlepping around in. Russian army cargo trucks did have a certain caché which seemed to hang around them like the smell of gunpowder after a firefight, but the aesthetics were definitely lacking. The jet black transport seemed sleek and modern as if it could find its way in any business district, but it might of seemed a bit out of place in the industrial seaports of Yokohama, especially considering it was the car of a man who thought elaborate transport was a camel still capable of mating. Though its dark exterior did make it hard to pick out of shadows in the dimly lit docks, and a lower profile was always a good thing. The windows almost matched the inky exterior, impossible for any prying eyes to see in, and equally difficult for any captive eyes to see out. Not that the interior had any hint of being a prison, the gloomy paint outside led to a supple beige leather interior, easing the weary traveler into a realm of comfort that is so often needed. This fact was doubly true for a grizzled Russian who had become all too familiar with the smell and consistency of moldy potatoes. Right now the two men lethargically slumped in there seats, their vertebrae composing an almost perfect italicized interrogation mark. The sweet aroma of treated cowhide pleasantly lifted the pain away, ironic considering the horrific end the bovine had met with. Nestled gently between the two men in an aftermarket console was a brilliant bottle of Stolichnaya vodka adorned in blue and white, framed by two empty glasses and a bucket of ice. "It's always nice to know that some Americans know the difference between the blue and the red labels," Yuri said through a grin.

"With our line of work, it's suprising pure ethanol doesn't run through our veins," replied Jack, the musical clinking of ice agains heat treated silica the only noise aside from their voices.

The clear liquid was poured hastily into to container for potables, seeming so similar to water, yet leaving a faint residue on the surface of the glass to hint at its stickiness. The Russian raised the glass bringing it to rest between him and the light on the interior roof of the car, letting the artificial photons refract through the various forms of carbon, calcium, hydrogen, and oxygen. Just as it seemed he was to break into a Shakespearian soliloqy, he flashed a smile at Jack and downed the alchoholic beverage. The great thing about vodka, undoubtedly so if it is of premium quality and properly chilled, there is no burn that you associated with the rapid consumption of whiskeys. "I hate to rape such a seren environment with coarse language Jack, but what the fuck was that?," pondered Yuri aloud.

"To be honest, I don't rightfully know. I came down here cuz some crazy-ass Yakuza promised me some military grade guidance chips, and guess who's name floats to the top of the hit list pile whilst I am here?," a boney finger extended from a hand wrapped around the other glass of vodka that Jack had swiftly prepared as soon as Yuri was done, "yours."

A hit? The russian's mind reeled to try and wrap itself around the idea that someone that had enough clout and whom he hadn't killed wanted him dead. One thing was for sure, with the information and slick setup of his demise, Yuri knew that there was plenty of financial backing in the lethal operation. Pick up a package, head back to the office, then do some paperwork, that was all that Okinawa was supposed to be, not death by pungent pommes de terre. He poured another drink, there were hundreds of questions he was wanted to ask Jack, but he needed to clear his mind. There was something he was overlooking, and it was right in front of him, but he couldn't quite focus in on it.

"Listen, I hate to barge in on this Russian mental yoga introspection crap, but we got company," interrupted the gruff American.

The tint had diminished the headlights of the following car so much that Yuri had failed to recognize that he was being followed. As his eyes adjusted, he could barely make out some figures leaning out of the windows. The muzzle flare and gunshots made it a lot easier. The car lurched as the driver swerved to become a more difficult target, yet one thing that a spy learns in the early course of his training is to never spill his beverage. As soon as the potent potables were safely stowed away, the two men ducked down to avoid the gunfire. "Too cheap for bulletproof Millnan?"

"Goddamnit, if I knew I was gonna have to spend so much time saving you Russian sumbitches I would have stayed in Cuba and gotten cirrhosis from too many tropical beverages.."

Jack reached near the top of his seat and pulled, revealing a fairly quick, but awkward access to the trunk. "Besides, you can never have too much trunk space..., grab that tube right there."

Yuri had to laught as his fingers found a firm grip on the telescoping metal tube that was the LAWS rocket. He never would have figured something that very nearly ended the life of his co-passenger would be so fortuitously available in the trunk of his car. He looked up and and thanked the car manufacturers that they had installed a sunroof in this model. Very bad things can happen when you fire a rocket inside a car, things like death and the agonizing pain that proceeded it. Yuri liked it best if they were avoided. "Open it now!," he barked at the driver.

He stayed down until it had completely opened. Why was it they always seemed to open more slowly when one is under durress? When all was ready, the Russian took a deep breath, flashed a wry grin at Jack, and then sprung up through the roof like a switchblade. Time seemed to grind to a halt as Yuri extended the rocket and shouldered it. Whether it is through genetics or livers as hard as the communist hammer and sickle, the vodka had done little to reduce the speed of Yuri's target acquisition. You always had to aim a little bit low to make sure the projectile didnt fly over the target, as the target is coming towards you at a fast clip. He held his breath as he depressed the trigger. The shadows which had encroached upon this nighttime chase were sent scattered by the plume of flame that lance forth from the tube, the squeals of the tires silenced by the deadly shriek of the rocket. There was a bried moment when all was still, and the terror was tremendous in the following car. Yuri's hair was still being blown back from the explosion of the following car when he descended back into the infinity. Such antics made him as giddy as a teenager, and the stunt seemed more like riding in a limo with the sunroof open than dispatching an enemy. Distancing your emotions and rationalizing death, such were the ways in the world of espionage.

Sic Semper Tyrannosaurus

Dave

I was at : 4244 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,